


Day 6: Angel

by Sang_argente



Series: 25 Days of Fic [6]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-07
Updated: 2014-12-07
Packaged: 2018-02-28 11:39:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2731091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sang_argente/pseuds/Sang_argente
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone was always big on angels around Chrismas time. Stiles wasn't ever really sure why. Maybe it was just the general religiousness of the holiday. Maybe it was from the nativity story. It didn't really matter to him. He just knew he was sick of seeing angels everywhere.</p>
<p>Angel ornaments, angel tree toppers, angel lights. It was twenty-four hours of angel, seven days a week and it sucked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day 6: Angel

Everyone was always big on angels around Chrismas time. Stiles wasn't ever really sure why. Maybe it was just the general religiousness of the holiday. Maybe it was from the nativity story. It didn't really matter to him. He just knew he was sick of seeing angels everywhere.

Angel ornaments, angel tree toppers, angel lights. It was twenty-four hours of angel, seven days a week and it sucked.

It sucked because Stiles was sure no one had ever met an angel.

No one except for him.

In his defense, he hadn't really thought of her as an angel for a long time. At first he thought it was a figment of his imagination he had conjured up in his grief. Then he thought he might have actually been going crazy.

Of course, after Scott was bit by a _werewolf_ , things changed. He started looking for alternate explanations.

The obvious one was a ghost, but that had been a bust.

Finally, he'd had to accept the fact that his mother was an angel. His mother was an angel and she visited every Christmas since the year she died, following close by him almost all day. She was there when he woke up and when he fell asleep, but he wasn't really sure when she got there or when she left.

He'd never mentioned it to his father. Part of him was afraid he really was going crazy, but mainly it was because the Christmas season was when the shadows clouded his father's eyes the most.

Stiles wasn't sure if he had an easier time with the holidays because his mother was there, or if his mother was there because he had an easier time. He'd decided long ago to not think too hard about the particulars for fear of pushing her away.

He honestly didn't know what he would do if he lost her again. Having her angelness on Christmas was much less than he'd had before her death, but it was more than he had the rest of the time. He wasn't willing to give that up. Not for anything.

Not even his pack.

Typically, Stiles went about Christmas Eve as usual and then spent the day with his mother on Christmas Day. He couldn't see or hear her, but he could feel her presence as if she was standing right next to him, walking in step with him. Since he had figured out he wasn't crazy, he'd take the precious few hours and show his mother as much of his life as he could. He'd take her to the school, showing her the classes he had and where his locker had moved to that year. Then he'd drive through the woods, recounting all the adventures he'd had with Scott and the pack since the last Christmas. She was an angel and Stiles was fairly certain that they knew about werewolves.

(If, for some very odd reason, they didn't have a clue, he was positive his mother could keep a secret.)

He'd spend the night in his room, quietly telling her about the books he had read and the movies he had seen and the new bands he listened to. He'd tell her about which games he was playing and the clubs he was in. It was just a way to update her on his life, tell her all the things other parents knew about their children.

One year he had spent a whole three hours telling her about how he was pretty sure he wouldn't marry because you're supposed to be honest with your spouse and how could he tell someone that he'd never spend Christmas with them because it was devoted to his dead mother the angel?

(The despair and grief that had overwhelmed him reassured him that his mother was just as real as everything else in his life, if also just as strange.)

As the night wore on, his voice would get quieter and his words would get faster as he suddenly realized there were tons of things he hadn't told her. It didn't matter if it was about the time Scott broke his arm jumping from Allison's window or the time Erica did Derek's make-up while he was sleeping or the fact that his dad had started seeing Scott's mom or the fact that he was pretty sure he was gay and that he was in love with a werewolf twice his age. He wanted her to know all the things.

He'd talk and talk and talk until his voice cut out and his throat hurt and his eyes were slipping shut without his control. He'd try to stay awake but he never could.

He'd always wake up on December 26th with the same feeling he'd had the day his mother had died. It was always like a piece of him had been cut out.

It didn't matter if he knew she'd be there the next year or not. It still hurt.

This year, however, it was the early hours of dawn when his bedroom window slid open. He looked up through wet eyelashes to see Peter swinging his legs over the sill.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, tightening his arms around his legs.

Peter looked at him sympathetically, eyes sparkling with old hurts. "I thought you might like some company."

"Why?"

"It's terrible to be alone after you lose a family member."

"I didn't lose anybody," Stiles said waspishly, curling even further into himself. He dropped his gaze and muttered, "At least, not any time soon."

"I could feel her, Stiles," Peter admitted, moving to sit next to Stiles on the bed. "I don't know if it's because I've been resurrected myself or what, but I could feel her with you in the woods yesterday. I let you be because that's what I would want if I had any extra time with my family."

"Oh," Stiles said in a small voice. "Well, thanks for stopping by."

"Anytime," Peter answered, laying a hand over Stiles's. He smiled at the young man compassionately when warm brown eyes met his. "I mean that. Anytime."

Stiles laced his fingers through Peter's and smiled back weakly.

"Thanks, Peter. I mean that."

**Author's Note:**

> if you'd like to prompt a holiday/winter themed prompt just drop me an ask [here](http://stilesthesasswolf.tumblr.com).


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